Choose

Ive just spent forty-seven minutes and thirty-one seconds staring at myself in the mirror.
Im five foot, five inches and i weigh ninety-five pounds, which is almost below the bottom of the ideal weight for my height, so i dont know why im so freaking fat. If i turn around so i can see my lopsided arse, you can just maje out the begginings of cellulite. Im seventeen! Im in for a lifetime of orange-peel thighs.
I started at my top. My hairs okay. It would be better if it was blond, but its straight and shiny, though i have split ends from using my straighteners so much. My forehead is too big, and i think ive overplucked my eyebrows. My eyes are an allright color: they are green, but tehy are too small and close together. My nose is too big, and it has this funny kink to it, which is my dads fault. My lips arent full enough, and my teeth are mostly straight, but they are not Hollywood A-list, glowy teeth, even though i brush with this Beverly Hills whitening toothpaste three times a day.
I didnt even want to start looking at my body but i forced myself to. I noticed the other day that one of my boobs is definetely bigger than the other. Freakishly so. And when i grabbed the skin on my tummy, there was flesh to spare. My arse is the size of a small country, and my legs...
My thighs wobbled when i moves. I stood there and sort of shook my legs and everything rippled. I was crying at this point. But i forced myself to carry on so i could see my knobby knees, which are the only bit of me that is actually bony. My calves have absolutely no shape to them, and the whole ugly mess ends with my feet. There s also something seriously deformed about my toes. They stick out all over the place, and they arent properly separated.
And now i was orange. That was te worst part. I was bloody orange. Stupid, bloody fake tan.
Nevertheless, im the happiest woman ever.